


Keep On Wanting

by blackcoffeeandteardrops



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 07:32:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15383775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcoffeeandteardrops/pseuds/blackcoffeeandteardrops
Summary: In the aftermath of MS4, Mulder and Scully cling to each other, along with what little hope they have.





	Keep On Wanting

She doesn’t speak the entire way home. That fact doesn’t concern Mulder too much, especially in light of everything they’ve been through and all they’ve just seen, but when he pulls up to their house and she doesn’t even bother to move, he begins to worry. “Scully?” he calls, reaching across the console to brush the hair from her cheek. “Honey, we gotta go inside. We’re home.”

Scully looks up slowly, eyes glassy, and nods in resignation. There’s a baby growing inside her, a fact which would have made her leap with joy if this had been a decade and about a thousand memories ago, but all she can think of is the son slowly sinking into inky black water. A voice whispers inside, telling her Mulder has lost just as much as she has and therefore they should be sharing the burden, but she still can’t bring herself to move. Mulder reaches for her seatbelt, unclipping it, and when he gets out to open her door, she lets him lead her inside.

Mulder takes her coat, hanging it on the rack by the door, before doing the same thing with his own, even though it’s still caked with blood. He’ll handle it later, either by having it cleaned or burning it, he’s not sure which. When he rests his hands on Scully’s shoulders, intent on leading her to sit down, he realizes that she’s shaking. “Why don’t you go take a shower? It’ll warm you up, maybe relax--”

“I’m fine,” she replies, protesting with the last strands of strength that remain in her body. Taking a shower after her world has been turned upside down seems insignificant and wrong, but when Mulder presses on her back, urging her upstairs, she again lets him guide her. “I can do it,” she says, reaching for the hem of her shirt at the same time he does. He moves away from her to turn the shower on and she nearly whimpers at the absence of his presence, but he’s back before she has a chance to show it. She’s torn between needing him there and wanting to hollow out what’s left of herself until she disappears altogether.

If she minds him being in the shower with her, she doesn’t show it. Mulder lathers up a sponge and rubs it across her shoulders and then down her back, watching in silence as the soapy water cascades down her body. He gives her hip a gentle squeeze, rubbing his thumb softly against the small of her back. “Turn around,” he whispers, finding it difficult and somehow wrong to speak much louder when she isn’t saying anything at all. He runs the sponge across her chest, careful and slow as the hot water turns her a soft shade of pink, but he stops as soon as he reaches her abdomen. He squeezes the sponge, hovering like he’s not quite sure where it should land, until her hand grips his wrist and pulls it against her. The sudden movement makes him gasp, and he opens his mouth a few times before finally braving the question he’s wondered for the past few hours. “How long have you known?”

“I suspected a few days ago, but my doctor called earlier today and confirmed my suspicions,” she says, staring at the soap bubbles that have ended up on his chest rather than looking him in the eye. If she does, she’s certain she’ll crumble apart. “I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for sure. After everything…” she trails off, her chin quivering and he pulls her close. They stay in the shower, clinging to each other like a lifesource, until the water runs cold.

Later, once they’ve dried off and have changed for bed, Mulder pulls the covers back, watching as Scully cradles the snowglobe she’d stolen from William--Jackson, he corrects himself--when they’d been at his home months ago. He thinks of the small hotel room in which he’d found his son, and of the briefest of hugs he’d given him the second he opened the door. Maybe he was pushing boundaries, he knew that much, but the second Mulder saw him he hadn’t been able to help it. Scully hadn’t had the chance to see their son in such a way, and he ached for her knowing she wouldn’t again get the chance. Still, as she turns the snowglobe in her hands, slowly tilting it to and fro, he’s desperate to pull her out of the nearly catatonic trance she’s been in ever since they left the docks. “Can you--” he pauses, clearing his throat even as he finds talking more strenuous for himself. “Can you say something? Anything, please. I just--”

“What is it you want me to say?” she replies, finally looking up at him. His red rimmed eyes don’t come as a surprise, although guiltily she realizes she hasn’t been able to comfort him as he cried. Still, there’s a trickle of ice seeping through her, preventing her from staying warm for any length of time, in spite of the shower they just took and the blankets covering them. Something flickers in Mulder’s expression and for a second it’s not him she sees, but William, who looks (looked, she thinks, her chest all but caving in), so exactly like him. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Mean what?” Mulder asks, not quite catching on to her meaning.

“I know what Skinner said, and I also know who he got it from. I don’t care what that cigarette smoking son of a bitch said, William is our son. Yours, and mine. And now he’s...he’s gone, Mulder. And I said--” Scully stops, reaching for a box of kleenex on the nightstand and furiously pulling one out to dab at her eyes.

“Hey, come here,” Mulder says, pulling her to him. He hooks a finger under her chin, urging her to look at him. “You didn’t mean it, Dana. I know that. He does, too.”

“How can he know that?” she asks, reminded of the moment hours before when William had appeared to her as Mulder, telling her he knew she loved him. A parting gift, she thought, although neither of them knew it at the time. “He told me he knows, but how is that possible? I gave him up, Mulder. That was my choice. I thought by giving up our son, I’d be giving him a better chance at life. All of these years, that’s the hope that kept me going. To know that he was out there, learning about the world and growing up. But to see him like that, to know how he ends up?”

The question hangs like the blade of a guillotine, glistening sharply over their heads. For a few moments, Mulder can’t bring himself to do anything but hold her. He’d asked her to speak because seeing her so quiet scared him, but now that she’s voicing thoughts long held, he’s afraid of what it might do to her. He presses a kiss to her forehead and breathes in deep. “We should get some rest. It’s been a long couple of days.”

Stubborn as ever, Scully shakes her head, again dabbing at her eyes with the tissue. “How am I supposed to sleep when he’s out there? When he’s--”

“Okay, honey, I love you. I do. But you can’t do this to yourself,” Mulder says, wiping at a stray tear on her cheek with his thumb. “You can’t spend the whole night contemplating possibilities. You love him. I do, too. No matter what Skinner or anyone else says, nothing can change that,” he continues, hoping for now it will be enough. His next move is risky, but when he ghosts his palm against her still flat belly, he lets out a sigh in relief when she doesn’t pull away. When she’d given him the news a few hours ago, he didn’t understand how it was possible. He still doesn’t, but he knows now they both have something to fight for.

Scully laces their fingers together, letting their joined hands rest against her stomach for a second, until suddenly it’s too much, and she pries them away. How many moments like this, reveling at the impossibility of a new life growing inside of her, were they robbed of the first time around? How many appointments and check ups and milestones had Mulder missed? How many had they both been robbed of once she’d made the difficult decision to give William up? She throws her legs over the side of the bed and is halfway across the room before she even realizes it.

“Scully--”

“Don’t,” she replies, her back to him as she faces the window. “How can I bring myself to be excited at all about this child, when I couldn’t protect William? How can I expect to give them a good life?”

Muldes sidles up behind her, hovering a hand at her shoulder before letting it fall to his side, feeling like touching her at this point might cause her to come even more unglued. “We just...we have to do the best we can. Take things one day at a time,” he replies. The words are weak and don’t hold much weight, but there’s nothing much left for him to do. The memory of their son, eyes wide and full of fear, cocking his head to the side and making people explode, is a sight he won’t soon forget. Neither is the look on Scully’s face, part agony and part hope, when she explained there was another child on the way. They’ve been dealt far more than they can handle for one night, so much so that it’s a miracle they’re still standing. “I miss him, too. So much,” he says, his voice breaking. The way her shoulders sag and she starts to shake chips away the last of his resolve to not encroach on her space. “Scully, c’mere, let’s go to bed. We don’t have to sleep, or do anything else. Just let me hold you.”

“Wait,” she says once his arm curls around her waist. She presses a palm to the window, chilled slightly by the air outside, and stares through the dark at the treeline, fixing her eyes on a shadowy spot that even at night seems a bit too dense. There’s a flash of something, a pop of color maybe. A face--William’s face, she thinks, even if it can’t be true--slowly comes into focus, but it’s gone before she can give it too much thought.

“What is it?” Mulder asks, his voice laden with concern. When she turns towards him, curling into his side, there’s something in her expression that he can’t quite place. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she replies, the word a laugh more than anything else. She thinks of the figure she saw amongst the trees, and she knows it’s impossible--like so many other things they’ve witnessed as of late--and yet she can’t stop hoping that what she thinks she saw was true. Still, there’s no way for her to tell Mulder she thinks William might have made it after all without direct evidence to back it up. Giving him false hope at such a juncture would be a killing blow. “I thought I saw something. I don’t know,” she says, laughing despite the anxiety she feels bubbling in her gut. She wants to run into the woods, to holler and yell her son’s name until her throat is raw or until he shows his face, whichever comes first. If the second option is even reality, she thinks with a sigh. “Maybe I could get some rest. Time for bed?”

Mulder agrees, walking over to his side and opening his arms for her in invitation as soon as she settles in. “We should check with the hospital in the morning. See how Skinner and Agent Reyes are doing.”

Scully nods against his chest, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat. “Yes. We should,” she replies, her words coming out at the end of a yawn. She may be bitter at Skinner for believing in and telling her a false narrative, but that doesn’t mean she wants him getting hurt. Or Reyes either, for that matter. She closes her eyes and snakes an arm around Mulder’s waist. When she sleeps, she sees their son. She sees him running through trees, his feet splashing through puddles, blood and dirt caked on his face while his hair sticks to his forehead. Eventually, she sees four white walls and a painting best described as generic, but there’s also a bed and a feeling of security and warmth.

 _I’m okay_ , a voice echoes inside her head. She’s only heard him speak via the security tape from the gas station, but she immediately knows it’s William. _I’m safe. I’m sorry for everything, and I’ll contact you again when I can._

In the morning, Mulder wakes up in bed alone. He sits up, hand pressing at the indent on Scully’s side of the mattress in panic. It takes a few seconds for the scent of coffee brewing downstairs to register. When he enters the kitchen he sees her sitting at the table, mug resting between her palms, a lighter expression than he’s seen more recently written across her face. “Coffee?” he asks, pointing to her mug.

Scully shakes her head, eyeing him with trepidation. “Coffee’s for you,” she says, pointing at the coffee pot before gesturing to her own mug. “This is green tea.”

He considers a joke about caffeine during pregnancy and whether or not it’s good for the baby, but decides against it. This is all so new they haven’t had much chance to discuss how they feel about it.

“Mulder, when you’re done there, can you come sit down?” Scully asks, watching him move about the kitchen with an air of impatience. He does as requested, sitting across from her and reaching out his hand for her to hold. She stares into her tea rather than looking up at him. “I’m not sure how to say this, because I’m not sure I understand it myself. I think…” she trails off, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she looks up at the ceiling, searching for a better way to explain the things she’s seen.

“Scully, you’re scaring me. What is it?” Mulder asks, his pulse drumming loudly in his ears. He traces his calloused fingertips across the underside of her wrist, feeling for her pulse.

“William is alive,” she says, thinking it best to just rip the band aid off. His fingers freeze in place, his hand tightly gripping hers. She doesn’t have to look at him to know his eyebrows have shot up in surprise, but she glances at him anyway. “I know it sounds crazy. I know what you saw last night, but he came to me in my dreams, and I saw him, Mulder. I felt him. While I don’t understand how, he’s alive.”

It’s the most animated he’s seen her in a long while, and it’s her certainty that makes him believe what she’s saying. “Okay,” he replies, slowly nodding his head. “So he’s alive. That’s good. That’s...really good. But how is he?”

“He told me that he’s safe, that he’ll contact us again when he can,” she says, briefly wondering how many times she’ll replay the words he spoke to her and knowing she’s already lost count. “You’re not going to tell me to wait on scientific proof? To not get my hopes up?”

“A mother knows, Scully, and while you might not have raised him? You’re still his mother. So yes, I believe you,” Mulder replies, resolute.

“I thought I saw him last night, in the trees behind the house. I didn’t want to say anything because I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. But he’s alive, Mulder. Our son is alive. He wants to reach out,” she says, an odd mix of awe and disbelief stirring in her veins. “You really don’t think I’m crazy?”

“As someone who until quite recently has been a federal agent tasked with investigating strange and unexplainable cases, I’ve seen my fair share of crazy. As have you,” he replies, giving her hand another squeeze. “But no, Scully. I don’t. If you believe he’s out there and he’s going to contact us again, then so do I.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding in reply. “We’ve probably lost our badges after all of this, haven’t we?”

Mulder shrugs, settling back in the chair and stretching his hands behind his head. The burden of losing their son hasn’t entirely been lifted, but he’s a little lighter now, having learned of William’s escape from what they feared to be certain death. “If the missed calls from Kirsch are any indication, then yes. We can stop by the hospital on the way to hand in our badges in. He can handle a few more hours of us avoiding him.”

“Are you ready to stay at home again?” she asks, knowing what it did to him, and to them by extension, the last time they were forced out.

“Things are different now, Scully. I’m better. We’re better. And, you know, we have a child to fight for. Two of them, actually,” he replies, his foot finding hers under the table and giving it a subtle nudge. “We’re in our fifties and we’re going to be parents to a newborn. Can we handle that?”

She draws a deep breath to steady herself. “I believe so, but it’ll certainly take some getting used to. Speaking of which, when we visit the hospital, I’d like to schedule an ultrasound. It’ll give us a better idea of how things are going.”

The fact he wasn’t around the first time this all happened doesn’t escape him, and as he stands back up, he doubts she’s forgotten that either. “Let’s get a move on, then. Scoot your boot and all that, Scully. We need to see how our peanut is doing.”

“Peanut? Mulder, we don’t even know if we’ll be able to get an appointment today, and even if we do, at this stage it’s likely that not much will be clear,” she replies, but even as she does, she gets the impression her words are useless. His excitement is infectious however, and soon a smile spreads across her lips. “You don’t think it’s risky? Letting ourselves look forward to this so soon?”

“Maybe it’s a risk, but it’s one I’m willing to take,” he says. When she joins him in the doorway, he nods, swallowing slowly. “William is alive. He’s out there somewhere, and he’s okay. And this baby is growing safe and healthy. We may be out of our jobs, but after everything we’ve endured, don’t you think we’re owed some kind of win?”

“We are,” she replies, thinking his words to be an understatement. She ushers him upstairs to get ready, and when they leave she risks a glance at the trees, hoping to see William there but already knowing she won’t. He said he’ll contact her again, and for now that’s all the hope she needs. As Mulder pulls out onto the main road she rests a hand against her stomach, imagining the life growing there, and she thinks of William. She doesn’t know when he’ll reach her again, let alone how, but she knows it can’t come soon enough.


End file.
